


Like Wildfire

by makemadej (santamonicayachtclub)



Category: Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Belly Kink, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, medical kink but make it absolutely ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santamonicayachtclub/pseuds/makemadej
Summary: “Is this gonna be a thing with you?” Ryan demands. “You can’t keep committing to stuff that no one else knows about! When people online say they want you to be more open and vulnerable, this is not what they mean.”“I know!” Shane wails. “I fucked up.”“Again,” Ryan points out, which is true but really not necessary.(Or: the one where Shane accidentally tells Ryan's mom they're a couple and they commit to the bit)
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 66
Kudos: 235
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Secret Santa





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allredpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allredpen/gifts).



> Pip, I apologize for showing up for Christmas fifteen minutes late with Starbucks and I appreciate your patience! There's another chapter that will be up later this week <3

Working hand in hand with your best friend comes with a whole pharmacy's worth of side effects. Not that Shane's counting, but he and Ryan have weathered quite a few of them in the years they've been doing this.

For one, the concept of mixing business and pleasure has never been especially taboo. Their Buzzfeed background blurred the lines of that early on and set a fairly unconventional precedent. After all, Ryan’s first day as an intern involved staring at the Try Guys’ butts. You can’t help but get friendly with at least a few of your colleagues when work involves everything from getting drunk on company time to sampling snake massages to stripping, all for the sake of content creation. It’s either that, die of humiliation, or go back to editing medical videos while moonlighting as a barista.

Shane never figured Buzzfeed would be more than a pitstop for him while he figured out what he wanted to do next. He was relatively confident he could buckle down and get through his fellowship, then emerge with a few new bullet points on his CV and a whisper of a career that allowed for more creative freedom than latte art. 

He didn’t anticipate getting charmed into staying for years, much less developing an affinity for churning out ghost-hunting videos. Everything else—the meteoric rise in views and subscribers, the accolades from inside and outside Buzzfeed, the fandom in all its baffling iterations—was like being strapped into a rollercoaster when he thought he’d been in line for the teacups. 

He made this comparison out loud once to Ryan, who was more than happy to miss the point in favor of steering the conversation towards his favorite Disneyland rides. Shane, who’d long ago learned when to guide Ryan back on track and when to let himself get caught in his current, had thrown a post-it pad at him and rolled his eyes. 

And Ryan...he was another variable Shane never could have anticipated. Bonding with the bro-y dude in baggy basketball shorts wasn’t even on his radar when he showed up for his first day of work. But here they are, five years later, working side by side in their matching boots and making their own rules. Within the constraints of 2020, anyway.

Other potential downsides of working with friends just plain haven’t given Shane much pause. He googled around for info on this before they went all in on Watcher. Apparently, a risk of going into business with your friends is knowing each other too well. So far, though, Shane hasn’t found that to be a negative. Sure, he and Ryan sometimes egg each other on a little too much or keep a bit going for a little too long. He baits Ryan, Ryan pushes him back, and Buzzfeed fans the flames of that for all its worth because viewers love them some banter. 

It’s still a little weird having to regulate themselves for the sake of Watcher. Here, their editing team is a lot smaller and Shane’s acutely aware of just how hard he and Ryan can be to edit.

Another issue is being with each other constantly. Even with the COVID vaccine inching its way into the population, meeting in person just hasn’t been practical, but they still communicate for hours almost every day. Shane’s read enough twitter threads and Medium articles about this to be aware of the risk—and, yeah, even the odd r/relationships post when he can’t sleep and ends up trawling Reddit. So many people seem willing to sound off about how easy it is to get sick of someone if you never have a break from them, but even Shane’s introverted nature hasn’t balked at being around Ryan as much as he is. After years of getting to know each other by sheer exposure therapy, they can generally read each other well enough to know when to back off.

But it also works the other way around. They anticipate each other's needs and reactions in a thousand tiny ways that still take Shane by surprise sometimes. It’s not as if he’s kept track of every infinitesimal instance. They’ve just kind of accumulated without him realizing it, like a snowbank forming one flake at a time. It doesn’t matter if it’s Ryan keeping peanuts in his car for Shane to snack on or Shane flawlessly interpreting Ryan's stream-of-consciousness outbursts when they’re incomprehensible to anyone else; sometimes he just finds himself mentally doing a double take and wondering how the hell that snowbank formed right under his nose anyway.

Then there are times when they literally finish each other’s sentences or get mistaken for a bickering couple.

The latter hasn't happened much during the pandemic because duh, but plenty of people have misinterpreted their friendship before. The bartender in Solvang who called them a cute couple, the hotel receptionist during an Unsolved shoot who asked Shane if his boyfriend found the fitness center all right—a whole subcategory, or sub-snowbank, of little moments that have stacked up over time as a by-product of being a package deal. They always laugh it off or gently correct the person, though that's usually Ryan’s doing because Shane is allergic to confrontation unless he's yelling at thin air while pretending it's full of ghosts.

The first time they try to embellish their relationship on _purpose_ , it falls flatter than an underdone pancake.

“Okay,” Ryan announces during a Zoom CEO meeting. It’s the week before Christmas and they’re all champing at the bit for some time off while simultaneously trying to work through as many items on their collective to-do list as possible before they get it. “We got our Steven show launch covered, which is awesome if you like that sort of thing.”

“The Steven show has a name,” Steven interjects mildly, not looking up from his phone.

Ryan screws up his face and makes a big production of adjusting his airpods. “I think there’s a bug in here, I keep hearing this weird buzzing. _Anyway_. I did my homework and looked up cool AirBnb ideas for Weird/Wonderful World. Here’s what I got.”

They’ve been trying to find ways to incorporate more in-person shooting in a pandemic-conscious way. None of them are very high up on the vaccination priority list, since for some reason creating internet shows hasn’t been deemed an essential service. A few days ago, Ryan floated the idea of quarantining and then doing a series of unconventional AirBnb stays for their next season of Weird/Wonderful World, which Shane has to admit is more interesting than his idea of doing virtual tours.

But since he has to keep Ryan humble, he leans over to peer out his window. “Huh, looks like we got a car parade for a birthday or something going on.”

Ryan huffs, as if he’s not the one who needs to be reeled back on topic more frequently than Shane and Steven combined. “C’mon, I’m trying to debrief you here.”

“I’m wearing boxers today,” Shane says blandly, which makes Ryan’s pitiful attempt at a glare collapse into a giggle.

“Debrief is kind of a weird word,” Steven agrees. “Also, wouldn’t you be briefing us? Isn’t debriefing what happens _after_ something and not before?”

“As I was _saying_ ,” Ryan continues, “there’s a problem because everyone and their mom had the same idea as us. A lot of these places are booked solid for the next six months, or at the very least through January.”

As Shane and Steven gamely listen, he reels off a list of quirky spots they could potentially stay in, provided they don’t launch the new season until spring. “The earliest opening of all these is mid-February.” Ryan scrunches up his nose in a way that makes a sudden tendril of fondness uncurl between Shane’s lungs. “And it’s for the traditional Japanese place, with tatami mats and stuff. But I’ve gotta be honest, I almost left this one off this list. It feels kind of insensitive to hit up a place based on a certain culture and call it weird, you know? Even if it’s also wonderful.”

Steven is nodding with the certainty of someone who’s been actively combating Asian stigmatization for the better part of a decade. “You read my mind, Bergara.”

“What’s the second-most available one?” Shane asks, a little chagrined that the “weird” aspect of their show being a stumbling block never even occurred to him.

“Uhhhh.” Ryan studies his screen. He hasn’t changed his background even once, which is a sure sign he’s concentrating hard. “The one where you, like, live in a house shaped like a giant mushroom and it’s like you’re a hobbit or something, y’know, small.” He grins, catching Shane’s eye. “I thought you’d be into it.”

“That I am,” Shane says, tabbing over to the spreadsheet Ryan shared with him earlier so he can click on the link. “How soon can we get in there?”

Ryan pushes up his glasses with an air of intense gravitas. “Here’s the thing. They’re free after Valentine’s Day, but they're only allowing limited reservations because of safety measures and their rates are high as hell unless you score a discount. So I looked into it. The only one they offer is a _family_ discount.”

There’s a beat where they do the Zoom equivalent of exchanging three-way glances. 

“Aren't we all basically family at this point?” Shane says in his best armchair philosopher voice. 

“Right, I'm sure they'll see it that way,” Ryan snorts. “I’ll just call up the booking agent and get ’em into a discussion about what family _really_ means. That’ll get us all the perks and definitely won’t make me seem like a douchebag.”

“What if you just tell them you’re related?”

Shane and Ryan blink in unison.

Steven holds up his hands, looking a little alarmed with himself. “Let me make this clear, I’m not condoning lying. But they can’t, like, run a background check on you, right?” 

There’s already a small, mischievous grin starting to spread across Ryan’s face. “Interesting. In theory, I mean.”

“Go on.” Steven gestures magnanimously with his mug of tea. “Let’s say I’m the booking agent. Convince me.”

“You got it, Mr...what was your name?” Ryan asks slyly.

Inevitably, Steven freezes up. “Lim? Uh...”

“Liminy Cricket, got it,” Ryan crows. Shane shakes his head and doesn’t even try to restrain his grin. “So yeah, we want to make a reservation using the family discount.”

“Yep, we’re totally family,” Shane adds, playing along for the hell of it. “Half brothers.”

“Adopted,” Ryan pipes at the same time. He adopts a solemn expression, puppy dog eyes and all. “You see, Liminy Cricket, the rest of his Sasquatch village burned down, so my family took him in.”

Steven takes off his glasses and drops his face into his hands.

“I don’t think it’s gonna work,” Shane says helpfully.

Now Ryan looks indignant. “Why, because you don’t wanna be my adopted Sasquatch brother?”

“I didn’t say that!” Shane protests. “If I thought it would fly, I’d absolutely be your Squatch bro.” 

“I think it has to be husbands,” Steven says suddenly. He’s steepling his fingers and gazing contemplatively off to the side as if he’s literally watching an idea take shape. Not for the first time, Shane wonders just how deep Steven’s calculating side runs when he’s not using it to calculate literal numbers.

“Um?” Ryan offers.

“You wear rings, you say you’re married, you get the family discount.” Steven beams. “Boom, Christmas is saved. Or Valentine's day, I guess, if you're reserving this in February.”

Ryan changes his background to a volcano captured mid-eruption. “You are diabolical. This isn’t even your show!”

“She doesn’t even go here!” Shane mimics. “Ryan, be nice. Steven’s just trying to make our mushroom village dreams a reality.”

“Like I said,” Steven interjects, holding up a finger, “I don’t condone this, I’m just saying I think you could pull it off.”

Shane gives him a wry smile. “You have way more faith in us than we deserve. I think we just proved we’re nowhere near cool or unscrupulous enough to make this happen.”

“We’ll save Christmas some other time,” Ryan says, sounding like he just might believe it. “This year is pretty much beyond saving.”

* * *

He’s not wrong.

Shane spends Christmas Eve stoned and in bed. Munching edibles until his head is cottony and his eyelids are leaden. Going through his Spotify wrapped playlist and snuggling Obi. Resolutely throwing his phone in a dresser drawer at some point so he won’t be tempted to scroll himself into a maudlin stupor.

He treats himself to a lazy morning when Christmas dawns, watching Elf with a bowl of cereal balanced on his knee. This is after he has Doritos and a mug or two of mulled wine in lieu of actual breakfast because it’s fucking Christmas and he’s fully embracing the dissolute loner vibe. Besides, it enhances the cinematic experience—his laughter resonates through his ribs, catching him inside its echo chamber and rocking him like a hammock. He tells himself he doesn't mind being alone and almost gets himself to believe it.

Then Scott, with that infuriating older-brother blend of affection and authority, shows up at his doorstep with his beard protruding from under a mask that’s clearly hiding a frown.

It takes him a few tries, because Shane desperately wants to believe the knocking at his door is just a sadistic Mormon duo and tries to ignore it. Scott has to threaten to kick his way inside before Shane finally peels himself off the couch to let him in.

“What the fuck?” Scott greets him.

Shane blinks at him from the threshold. “Merry Christmas?”

“We’re supposed to Skype with mom and dad, dumbass. You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Right,” Shane says slowly. A few of the clouds scudding across the surface of his mind graciously dissipate. “I’ve been, uh—” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You know. Blocking out the rest of the world?”

“Healthy,” Scott says dryly. “Go wash your face before we do this, you look like shit.”

Chastened, Shane sidesteps out of the room to the sound of Scott cooing at Obi. He retrieves his phone from the dresser drawer on his way to the bathroom, where the mirror confirms that he does indeed look like shit. There are probably sparrows roosting in his hair. Then again, his parents will be glad to see him no matter what, and he’s banking on his glasses and the mercy of Skype to hide the fact that he’s still a little buzzed.

He scrubs his face, brushes his teeth, and gives his reflection a shrug. That’s as good of a pep talk as he’s going to get out of himself.

Then he glances at his phone.

He has exactly seventeen missed calls and ninety-three unread texts.

Shane is sorely tempted to just flush his phone down the toilet, but he grits his teeth and keeps going.

Most of the missed calls are from Ryan, with a few each from Steven and Katie, which tells him right away that whatever he’s missed is Watcher-related. Neither Ryan nor Steven have left a voicemail, which is a relief, because surely if someone had tested positive for COVID they’d do that, right? 

Katie, however, has. Shane steels himself up and clicks play.

“Hey, Shane?” Katie’s voice says warily. “I’m just checking in to make sure you’re doing okay. I know it’s first thing on Christmas morning, but we’re all kind of confused about what you posted last night. It’s not a bad idea, it’s just...not something we talked about. Let me know when you get this and we’ll just go from there, okay? Merry Christmas!”

Shane’s stomach plummets. 

His texts, again mostly from Ryan, clarify little and improve nothing. At least they make for a quick read.

_Dude_

_Waht_

_What did you do_

_Are you drunk? be honest_

_We’re doing what now??_

_Steven called me, he was at some online midnight mass thing and almost had a heart attack when he saw_

_This is crazy big guy, wtf_

Shane skims through the rest of them, which are all variations on the same theme—clearly, he fucked up somehow and everyone’s ready to do damage control.

“Are you hotboxing in there?” Scott calls from the living room. “Hurry up!” 

“Handling a work thing!” Shane yells back at him, wrenching open the door. His reflection, in the glimpse he catches of it, now looks like it’s just emerged from under a rock and been struck by lightning. “Entertain yourself!”

Then he darts into his room before Scott can answer and locks the door out of sheer must-hide-from-family-members muscle memory.

The final text from Ryan is straightforward enough: _look at your instagram and_ _CALL ME._

Shane, feeling equal parts helpless and horrified, opens Instagram.

There are no new posts on either his or the Watcher account, so at least he didn’t whip his dick out while stoned off his ass and decide to share it with the internet. That gives him a modicum of reassurance.

But around his profile picture, there’s the telltale pink-and-orange halo of a newly posted story. Possibly more than one.

For a moment, Shane’s brain empties itself of everything but that gif of Gandalf the Gray proclaiming “I have no memory of this place.”

He clicks.

And then, slumped on the end of his bed, he watches last night’s version of himself. 

The Shane of yesternight was canny enough to add a filter that covers him in a rosy glow and a shower of glittering snowflakes, which is very cheerful and does a great job of obscuring the fact that he’s high as a kite. Through this snow globe of merriment, he declares, “Hey, it’s Christmas!” 

Shane dares to hope that it all ends there. It does not.

“But you know what?” his traitorous snowy self continues. “Christmas means it’s almost New Year’s Day and that, mathematically, means it’s almost Valentine’s Day. So, if we round to the nearest holiday, it makes sense for you to send in your most harrowing New Year's and/or Valentine’s Day tales. Who knows, maybe you’ll see me and my buddy Ryan discuss them. Perhaps over a drink. Or four.” 

All Shane can do is stare as the Shane on his phone happily promotes a show that exactly no one on the Watcher team, himself included, was aware they were doing. From the kitchen, Scott hollers something about making French toast, but he barely registers it. The inside of his head might as well be an actual snow globe.

Numbly, he calls Ryan.

The phone barely has a chance to ring before he answers. “Hi,” Ryan says conversationally. “What the fuck?”

“I seem to have put my foot in my mouth,” Shane admits.

“Uh, that’s putting it pretty lightly, pal. In fact, I’m not totally convinced you didn’t grow a bunch of extra feet just so you could shove ’em in your mouth.”

In spite of himself, Shane chokes out a laugh. “Gross.”

“I’m kind of impressed,” says Ryan. “You got through all our socials like a pro. Hence the five zillion submissions we’ve gotten for the next show.” 

Shane winces. “Fuck.”

“This New Year’s/Valentine’s Day hybrid of Too Many Spirits is gonna be baller as hell,” Ryan continues. “But here’s the thing...when did we decide we were doing that?”

“We didn’t,” Shane exhales. “I fucked up.”

“You did,” Ryan agrees. “I’m not gonna say you ruined Christmas because that would be a dick move, even though you were already toeing the line of dick moves by not coming home with me, but you really started it off with a bang.”

It’s kind of a low blow, but Shane can’t pretend he doesn’t deserve it. Ryan _did_ invite him to spend Christmas in Arcadia at his parents’ house, but Shane was already wallowing in a funk about not making it home to Chicago and he’d politely declined. He just hadn’t been able to see himself doing anything but Krampus-ing all over the Bergara merriment, casting a gloomy pall across all the family warmth and fun decor and wiener dogs in little festive sweaters. It’s still hard not to envy Ryan for how close he lives to home. Shane has been trying to force out the guttering candle of resentment burning away at his heart, to no avail. 

Ryan doesn’t deserve that. 

Ryan deserves so much more and Shane’s been too busy Grinching it up to give it to him.

“I’ll post another video,” he blurts out. “I’ll...I’ll send an email and apologize. I can say it was just a bad joke.”

Even to himself, that sounds incredibly flimsy.

“You could,” Ryan says. “Then you’d really be ruining Christmas, just saying.”

“What’s the alternative?” Shane demands. “I tell the truth? Say I got super high and it’s all my fault? Because it is, I’m not denying that, but it’s gonna make Watcher look really shitty if I go that route.” 

“Yeah,” Ryan snaps back with uncharacteristic acidity, “it is. You can’t just randomly decide what we get to do. We’re a team, that’s what this whole thing is about. You can’t just get stoned and start throwing your innermost thoughts out there. That’s the kind of thing you do in high school, dude, not when you’re over thirty and run your own company.”

Shane sighs. A flicker of memory wisps through his thoughts, the faintest impression of last night’s Shane. Lounging in bed, working through a half-baked idea while just baked enough for it to seem brilliant. Brilliant enough for him to let it incubate and hatch and flex its wings all over the internet, then chuck his phone aside and forget about it entirely. 

“I know,” he says glumly.

“My parents are down for it,” Ryan says at the same time.

Surely he can’t have heard that right. “What?”

“I floated it by them as soon as they were caffeinated enough to function.” He can almost see Ryan shrugging, as if pitching a bonus Too Many Spirits shoot on Christmas Day is no big deal. “And they were bummed you didn’t come up, so they’ll be glad to see you.”

There isn’t a word for the feeling that swells in Shane’s throat like a nascent sob, so he seeks refuge in flippancy. “Hang on. Are you saying that maybe, just maybe, I’m onto something? That this could potentially be the best TMS the world has ever seen?”

“I’m saying we could probably swing it for the sake of damage control. And there’s the bonus of getting really drunk.” 

Shane is already flipping through his mental calendar. “Hey, it’s not like I’m doing much of anything between now and New Year’s Day anyway. Might as well knock out some filming.” It’s starting to seem almost plausible. “If we crush the editing in a couple weeks, we can get the first episode on the docket for the second week of January. Then we can push back Weird/Wonderful World a little more and figure out the AirBnb thing, since that’s not gonna happen as soon as we were planning on anyway.” 

“You know, you could’ve just spent Christmas with me,” Ryan points out, pulling him back down to earth. “Instead of volunteering everyone to work over the holidays for some shit your royal highness threw out into the world.”

It’s the verbal equivalent of being doused with a bucket of ice water. Shane’s worked under enough asshole bosses in his day to be incredibly wary of becoming one. “Whoa. I’m not volunteering anyone. But do you think at least Steven—”

“Oh, Steven’s in. He’s already brainstormed a bunch of cocktails. You know I was talking him off a ledge until about two AM? He thought he’d missed the decision to do a third season somehow. I had to convince him it was just your dumb ass being an agent of chaos.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Shane mutters, shamefaced. “You know what, I’m gonna just...message everyone and then die.” As much as he would love to leave town and change his name rather than inform the whole Watcher team he’s an idiot, the least he can do is take responsibility for his idiocy first.

“Oh, hell no. You don’t get to leave me high and dry by firing yourself into the sun.”

“Too late, I’m already there. It’s supposed to be almost eighty today.”

Ryan groans. “You _also_ don’t get to whine about LA winters.”

“Are you just keeping a list of stuff I’m not allowed to do?”

“Now there’s a thought,” Ryan says brightly. “Look, we can make this happen even if it’s just us and Steve. Oh, and I know Brittney said she’s gonna be bored after Christmas. I bet I could get Matt to film, too, unless he’s too busy proposing. Y’know, someone who has a little extra time and wants a little extra paper. We’re not tearing people away from their kids so they can watch us be drunken fools.”

A wave of guilt washes over Shane. He’s spent the past few days distancing himself from Ryan, telling himself it’s because Ryan deserves to enjoy his time at home without Shane being a killjoy. And here Ryan is, extending tidings of comfort and joy like there was never any other option.

Shane opens his mouth, not knowing what’s going to come out of it but hoping desperately that it’s enough, that Ryan will understand how much of Shane’s life has been built upon his like a keystone. “Ryan, I—”

“Yo!” Scott raps on his door to the tune of Good King Wenceslas. 

Ryan utters one of those wild, uninhibited giggles that never fails to make Shane want to grin right back. “Uh-oh, you in trouble with someone else now?”

“Family obligation time,” Scott bellows. “Quit being a workaholic or I’m gonna eat your French toast.” 

Shane grimaces. “ _Okay_ , Jesus Christ.”

“The reason for the season,” Scott singsongs back, infuriatingly chipper. “I’m Skyping home in five, get your skinny ass out here.”

Five minutes, Shane thinks, is just enough time to fire off an apology email to everyone and get his heart to stop thrumming like a hummingbird’s. 

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Ryan says, letting him off the hook with far more graciousness than Shane deserves. “Merry Christmas, big guy. We’ll make this work.”

“Back at ya,” Shane says automatically. It feels woefully inadequate. “See you soon.” 

* * *

The day after Christmas is, for lack of a better word, a whirlwind as the surprise third season of Too Many Spirits takes shape.

Shane is still marinating in guilt, but he’s also a little impressed. They have the time and the means and they've done it before, so it’s not like they’re launching a completely new show, but the way everything starts coming together like a well-oiled machine even with their incredibly short turnaround window is almost magical. 

Team Watcher hustles. They gather the corniest New Year’s Day and Valentine’s Day decorations, along with necessities for Steven’s cocktails. They map out a schedule that has them filming on December 28, which gives them plenty of time for editing before releasing Wednesday episodes during the last two weeks of January and the first two of February. Their fans have flooded them with holiday horror stories, which Brittney and Katie pick through to find the cream of the crop.

Steven is the one who suggests the decorations change from episode to episode, moving from New Year’s Day to Valentine’s Day. He puts the idea out there when they’re assembled in the Bergara backyard, elbow-deep in tinsel and fairy lights.

Shane is hesitant, mostly because that would require more of everyone’s time. Since he’s the one who brought this down on everyone, he feels like it’s his duty to keep things as condensed as possible. “You know, I’m wondering if we should scrap the New Year’s part and just do Valentine’s stuff. This isn’t gonna be airing until 2021 anyway, you know?”

Ryan, on the other hand, is all about it. “Oh, that’s _good_ . Then we can get some footage of us running around like idiots and I won’t get too sleepy.” He rounds on Shane. “We shoot _tomorrow_ , man. It’s a little late to be scaling back now, don’t you think?” he demands, gesturing at the gigantic HAPPY 2021 banner suspended behind the firepit. 

“Time has basically lost all meaning,” Katie agrees, with her usual talent for making the absurd sound practical. “I’m sure no one will mind you having a belated New Year’s episode.” 

“One of the cocktails is called ‘hot cider punch 2020 in the face,’” adds Steven. “That’s too good not to use.”

“No bartender spoilers!” Ryan yelps, waving a pack of crepe cupids at him. “What kind of cocktail maestro are you?”

After the decorations are in place—and after the inevitable squabble about whether or not Steven is a maestro—Shane is almost willing to let himself draw a full breath.

Then Ryan takes him aside. “Hey. My dad says you’re welcome to stay the night tomorrow after we finish up. Also my mom wants you to come up early so she can stuff you full of enmoladas before we get wasted. I think they both still feel bad about that time you almost dug a hole in the yard to sleep in.”

Shane is already formulating a half dozen polite refusals, but Ryan is watching him with that wide topaz-bright gaze and shaking his head knowingly. “No weaseling out of it this time, pal. I’m telling you now, just suck it up and say yes. Everyone's tested negative and it'll be good for you to get out of your apartment some more.”

He doesn't say it'll be good to spend some extra time together without having to focus on work, but Shane thinks he can read that in the spaces between his words.

“Sure,” he concedes, “that'd be nice.” 

He hopes Ryan can translate _thank you for looking out for me_ from the spaces between his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Shane is wielding a spatula beside Linda Bergara when he does it again.

He’s at the Bergara home the day of filming and he thinks he’s handling himself pretty well. It feels a little awkward to be in such close proximity to a family that isn’t his own, and he’s sure it shows. Then again, the Bergaras are forgiving folk and he figures the whole global pandemic thing is a valid reason for his social skills to be a little rusty. But he tries his best. He helps Steve Bergara haul a tarp of logs into the backyard, at the ready for a few good rounds of Log Bros. He gets into a discussion with Jake that turns into an impromptu Top 5 Beatdown about gaming consoles. He offers to give Linda a hand in the kitchen while Ryan takes the dogs outside, which for some reason seems to delight her.

“Have you seen Ryan try to cook? I don’t like to call anything a lost cause, and I don’t keep a running tally of which of my kids has set the smoke alarm off more often, but...” She arches her brows and lets Shane fill in that bit of trivia on his own.

“Just to be clear,” he says, since it seems rude to let her believe otherwise, “I’m not much of a cook either. I bake sometimes, but that’s more of an annual thing.” 

Linda’s face spreads into a smile that’s almost identical to Ryan’s. “Don’t worry, I promise my standards aren’t that high. Did you ever set off a smoke alarm making a protein shake? He still can’t explain how that happened. Now, just tell me you know how to cook ground beef and we’ll get into it.”

He’s duly doing just that and nodding along as Linda explains what makes an enmolada different from an enchilada when she suddenly changes the subject. 

“You would have been welcome to stay over for Christmas, you know,” she announces. “Not just to be my sous-chef, of course.” 

Shane doesn’t know how to respond to that, but he’s saved by an explosion of laughter from outside. Craning his neck to get a look out the kitchen window, he spots Ryan darting across the backyard. He’s being chased by Micki and Dori, both in matching striped sweaters, and all three of them seem to be having the time of their life.

“Yeah, uh, I told Ryan I appreciated the offer, I just…” he gestures lamely with his free hand. 

“Ryan said he was worried about you. He does that more than you might think.” Linda selects a few bottles from the spice rack, oblivious to Shane’s consternation. “He knows how much you love getting to go home and he wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely over the holidays.”

There’s a band of heat sneaking its way across Shane’s face and he can’t even pretend it’s from standing over the stove. “Yeah, sometimes it’s like Ryan knows me better than I know myself. It’s hard to be lonely when he’s around.”

“Still.” Linda gives his arm a pat, so casually, as if Shane can't count on one hand the number of arm-pats he’s gotten in the past nine months. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to see your loved ones for Christmas.”

Outside the kitchen window, Ryan scurries across the yard again, this time being pursued by a peacock. Shane takes a moment to admire the absurdity. 

“I mean, I do miss Chicago,” he admits, “but look at that.” He inclines his head towards the bizarre tableau in the backyard, which really should speak for itself. “A whole lot of what I love is right here. It’s pretty hard to beat.” 

Tonally, he’s aiming for something between reassuring and sardonic. But when he glances back at Linda, she practically has stars in her eyes. 

“I knew it,” she says.

Alarm bells go off, but they have nothing to do with the smoke detector.

Shane points to the skillet, trying to sound calm and collected. “So, uh, how well-done is—” 

“That’s perfect.” She retrieves an oven mitt and Shane obligingly scoots out of her way, hoping he can also scoot the conversation back to the lunch menu. 

No such luck. Linda’s interest is piqued, and she might have a defter touch than Ryan when it comes to following it, but she’s no less tenacious. “Ryan is always talking about how special you are. I'm glad that you're there for him too.”

Shane’s shoulders tighten. There’s a special kind of embarrassment reserved for being complimented by your best friend’s mom to begin with, and on top of that Shane is out of practice at normal human interactions that don’t involve screen time. He’s also weak for affection and Linda looks at him so kindly and earnestly he can’t deny her anything, whether it’s slicing bell peppers or grabbing a colander off a high shelf.

Then she asks, “How long have you been together?” and Shane can’t deny her that either.

He freezes and experiences a hot flash at the same time, but he _can’t_. “Um.”

“Ryan is always so shy about it when he’s dating someone new, but I can tell. It’s probably the _only_ time he’s shy.” Shane must look like he’s just been smacked with a shovel because she laughs lightly and backpedals. “I’m being nosy, I’m sorry. You don’t have to share any details you’re not comfortable with.”

“No, no,” Shane sputters, instinctively trying to reassure. “It‘s just...we’re not…”

And Linda is still looking at him, so happy for them both, eyes still so full of stars. She’s opened her home and her heart to him and Shane just can’t do it. He can’t break the illusion.

“We’re not really used to it,” he blurts out. “It’s, um, only been a couple weeks. Everything is still really new.”

So new that Ryan doesn’t even know about it, he mentally adds. 

Linda looks overjoyed. “That’s wonderful, oh my goodness! He has nothing but the sweetest things to say about you.”

This is news to Shane, but he nods along. “Yeah, he...he’s a sweetie like that.”

“And we’d love to have you stay through New Year’s Eve,” she continues. “Our most exciting traditions are watching Ocean’s Eleven and eating twelve grapes at midnight, so I understand completely if you have more interesting plans.”

“That sounds plenty interesting,” Shane says truthfully, wondering how the hell he can escape the corner he’s babbled himself into. “I’ll, uh, check my calendar and get back to you.”

When Linda asks him to go tell Ryan lunch is almost ready, he can’t bolt for the backyard fast enough.

“Two things,” he announces, sprinting over to where Ryan is rearranging their bar cart. “Lunch in about ten minutes and…” 

Ryan waits, brows furrowed under his beanie. “And? Why do you look like you just shat yourself?”

Shane swallows hard, then rips off the band-aid. “I think I might’ve accidentally told your mom we’re in a relationship. The dating kind.” 

Ryan guffaws. ”Nice. You almost sold me on that one.”

“I’m not trying to sell you on anything!” Shane hisses. “I mean. She assumed. And I kind of didn't correct her assumption?”

Slowly, the mirth fades from Ryan’s face. “Hang on, you _what_?”

“Also she invited me to stay through the new year,” Shane adds miserably. “Your mom is really nice. It’s a problem.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Ryan says.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. “I’d say that’s an accurate summation.” 

“Is this gonna be a thing with you?” Ryan demands. “You can’t keep committing to stuff that no one else knows about! When people online say they want you to be more open and vulnerable, this is not what they mean.”

“I know!” Shane wails. “I fucked up.”

“Again,” Ryan points out, which is true but really not necessary. “Are you going for the world record? Most feet ingested in 2020?”

“Very funny. I just...I didn’t want to let your mom down.” 

“She does have that effect on people.” Ryan grabs a Modelo off the bar cart, pops it open, and passes it to him. “Sit and sip, dude. What did you say exactly?”

Weakly, Shane gives him a rundown as Ryan stares, arms crossed. He’s wearing his self-portrait shirt again, which gives Shane the bizarre impression he’s being judged twice as hard.

“So,” Ryan says when Shane’s done. He’s popped a Modelo of his own by then and his hair is a ruffled mess from where he’s tugged off his beanie. “You didn’t just let her believe we’re dating. You invented an entire goddamn backstory for us. You’re really getting your money’s worth out of that improv class, huh.”

Shane gazes down at his hands. There’s somehow still a thread of humor in Ryan’s voice, but he can’t bring himself to even try and grab hold of it himself. “Don’t worry. I didn’t say yes to staying for the new year. I haven’t packed enough stuff for that anyway. And...I can tell her I lied and then leave tonight. I’ll get a Lyft or see if Katie can drive me.”

It's almost surreal when Ryan laughs. He tips his head up and it just tumbles out of him, warm and bright. His face is luminous, so dazzling up close it shutters Shane's lungs and scrambles his thoughts. It's been so long since he's seen him like this, up close and in person without a mask. Shane wonders if he’ll ever get used to it, if being face to face with Ryan will always send lightning surging through his veins. He wonders if he wants to.

And then Ryan says, “Oh no, I don't think so.”

“Huh?” 

Ryan leans in, resting his forearms on his knees. Curls falling over his forehead and stubble dusting his cheeks, lips a bit chapped. Shane is gaping at him and he knows it, but at least he can couch it in disbelief.

“See,” Ryan says, “I’ve known my mom my whole life. I know how she operates. She’s already told my dad by now and you really can’t let my parents down, y’know? This is such a happy surprise for them! Not to mention me.” 

He smiles sunnily. Apprehension crawls down Shane’s spine.

“I’ll have to tell them all about how we decided to take the plunge and how I came to terms with my sexuality and how we agonized over whether we really could make it work if we went from being BFFs to just BFs...for F? What’s the acronym for boyfriend forever? Because honestly, bro, I mean babe, we gotta figure that out. We’ve got a _lot_ to figure out.” 

“You’re hilarious,” Shane says weakly, but Ryan isn't laughing anymore.

“Not joking. _Babe_.”

“Are you kidding?” Shane takes a swig of his beer, incredulous. He has a sinking feeling he already knows the answer. “We couldn't even keep our shit together for two minutes in front of Steven Lim!”

Ryan heaves a sigh that sounds like it comes from the center of the earth. “Okay, I know this is unfamiliar territory for you, but I’m gonna be honest. My parents love you and they’re still bummed things didn't work out with me and Mari. This will give them a boost.”

He can't have heard that right. “Are you asking me to troll your parents?”

“No, I'm saying we might as well commit to the bit instead of drop-kicking their joy. It’s been a wild year. Everyone needs all the joy they can get.” 

He has a point. A very roundabout one that's giving Shane heart palpitations, but a point nonetheless.

“Besides,” Ryan looks at him from beneath his lashes in a way Shane can only describe as coquettish, “you started it.”

* * *

Lunch is delicious, Shane’s sure. He’s two breaths away from a panic attack and barely tastes it, even though he keeps shoveling food into his mouth in order to avoid having to talk very much. 

Ryan, on the other hand, is reveling in his new role as devoted boyfriend.

“Yep, you can only spend so much time around a face like that before you want to put your face all over it,” he says brightly. Shane, who's currently all but burying his face in a mound of rice, manages a wan smile.

On his other side, Jake sighs. “Right? I haven't forgotten the time you confessed your love for me because I brought you guys Taco Bell.”

“Hey, don’t hold that against him,” Ryan says cheerfully. “Doesn't everyone sometimes want to make sweet love to something off the Taco Bell menu?”

Somehow, Shane manages to keep chewing as if this is a perfectly normal conversation.

“ _Ryan_ ,” Linda chides.

“He’s not wrong,” Jake admits. “First time for everything.”

Shane bobs his head in assent and resolutely tears into another tamale.

“Moving right along,” Steve says. “For the record, I have a few questions about Shane’s judgment, but I also have situational awareness. Boys, take note.”

Ryan looks indignant. “Hey!”

“It’s very sweet,” Linda reassures him. “Shane told me it's only been a few weeks, but you two have got so much history together already.”

“Yeah.” Ryan ducks his head. There’s a blush forming on the apples of his cheeks, or maybe he’s been hitting the hot sauce a little too hard. Shane chooses to believe the latter.

Then Ryan reaches over and takes his hand. Across the table, his parents are practically glowing.

Shane is officially the biggest asshole on the planet. He squeezes Ryan's hand back for dear life.

Afterward, he clears his place and makes a beeline for the kitchen to compose himself only to find that Jake is already there, loading the dishwasher.

Now Shane is at an impasse. He can’t just throw his plate on the counter and flee, but he can’t body slam Jake out of the way and toss it into the dishwasher either. Mentally, he crosses his fingers and hopes against hope that Jake just won’t mention anything about the state of his brother’s love life.

“Hey,” Jake says, as if on cue. “I was wondering when you guys were getting together.”

Shane barely suppresses a grimace. “Oh. Thanks.”

“I bet the internet will go nuts,” he muses. Shane seriously considers just putting everything in the sink and leaving, no matter how anathema it is to Midwestern guestiquette. “Are you thinking you’re gonna, like, announce anything?”

That’s a whole new level of terrifying. “The internet is already nuts,” Shane says with considerably more glibness than he feels. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

Technically, it’s the truth. 

“Ryan’s been insufferable about you forever,” Jake says casually. “Now I finally get to tell you about it. This is great.” He grins, a spark of mischief showing through his usual reserve.

Shane blinks. “Hang on.” 

Ryan appears at his elbow. “Gotta borrow this one,” he announces to Jake, plunking his own plate in the sink without batting an eye. “Put that in, will ya? Thanks, bro.”

Then he does the same with Shane’s, grabs him by the elbow, and practically drags him downstairs.

Meekly, Shane lets him. 

“Right,” declares Ryan once Shane’s slumped on the sofa wondering how his life ended up here. “Let’s talk about that whole situational awareness thing.”

Shane casts his eyes around. The finished basement doubles as a TV room and game room, and there’s a distinct erstwhile-teen-hangout feel to it. Off to the side, adjacent to the laundry room, there’s a foosball table and a drum set. The walls are decked with framed photos of family members and there are enough throw pillows for Shane to bury himself in if he were to try. It’s very cozy and gives the less-than-cozy impression he’s being judged by various Bergara relatives. 

“Jake plays drums?” he asks, desperate to draw attention to anything other than how badly he’s fucked up.

Ryan wrinkles his nose. “He thought he could for a little while. There was this whole phase where— _hey_ , nuh-uh, no getting off track here.” He narrows his eyes and jabs a finger at Shane. ”You can’t just decide you're my blushing boyfriend and then walk it off. We have some character work to do, dude.” 

This conjures up a confusing mental mix of Puppet History storyboards and Shane’s very brief stint as a Shakespearian actor. “Some _what_?”

“I told mom and dad we need to iron out some details before Steven, Brittney, and Katie show up. Am I wrong?”

“You are not,” Shane says deliberately. 

“They probably think we’re making out,” Ryan adds, sprawling onto the sofa beside him. “But let’s be honest, we hardly know each other. Intimately, I mean.” He grins, wide and impish, and whips out his phone. “Now. I've got some questions that need answering. Let’s fix that.”

They spend the next hour frantically planning how to be a convincing couple.

They walk laps around the room so they can practice holding hands, taking into account their height difference until it looks like a natural gesture they’re used to doing with each other. 

They pinpoint their pet names for each other, something that never occurs to Shane until Ryan demands, “What do I call you? Are you good with babe? Baby? That’s kind of my default, but I need to know what you can handle without laughing? Fuck, what can _I_ handle without laughing?”

Shane twirls the fringe of an afghan between his fidgety fingers. “Isn’t Steven going to be jealous if you call me baby?”

Ryan laughs. “Shit. How did I end up being the slutty CEO?”

There's an afterschool special feel to all of this, the two of them putting their heads together and plotting a wholesome heist. Shane thinks about all the other plans they've cooked up together. Outlining episodes, editing over each other’s shoulders, all the years of brainstorming and conspiring they've done together.

“Just through the new year,” Ryan says, yanking him back to reality.

“What happens after the new year?”

Ryan cocks an eyebrow at him. “Well, we can’t stay together forever, can we?”

Shane’s knee-jerk reaction is to ask why not. He swallows it down and tries not to think too hard about that.

“We’ll be the ultimate OTP power couple through the holidays. Then whenever they ask about you once we’re back to normal, I casually mention we decided we're better together as friends and life goes on.”

“That's it?”

Ryan shrugs. “Yeah, we'll have a nice amicable split without causing a letdown over the holidays.”

“Hang on.” Shane’s head is spinning. “Did you say _OTP power couple_?”

“For someone who’s hip with the latest internet slang, it’s like you’ve never heard of Tumblr.” There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Also, my mom got the guest room ready even though I told her we’re used to sharing a room. Just saying, you’re welcome to crash in mine.”

Shane pauses, halfway through a text to Scott about looking in on Obi while he’s out of town for a few extra days. He does not specify why. “Oh. Right. Yeah, it’ll be cool, like we’re filming something and having a spooky sleepover just like the old times.” 

“Just a lot more drunk,” Ryan affirms. “Can you imagine if we did an Unsolved episode while drunk? I’d pee myself.”

“Please don’t pee yourself while we’re in the same bed,” Shane begs. “I don’t think I’m ready for the kinky shit.”

Ryan cackles. “This is my parents’ house, dude. The kinkiest I’m gonna get is pecking you on the cheek.” 

A tongue of flame scorches up Shane’s spine. “Shit, really? We don’t have to do PDA stuff, right?”

“ _Do_ we?” Ryan crooks a grin at him. “This is your world, we’re all just living in it. What was going through your head when you told my mom I was the love of your life?” 

“I never said that,” Shane says automatically. “But we can just play it cool in front of your parents, that’s my thinking. We can be one of those newly coupled-up couples where we’re kind of shy and not really touchy-feely.”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re all about the modesty.” Ryan looks pensive. “In my experience, people who are newly together can’t keep their hands off of each other, but okay. If you want to play it coy and be my coy boy toy, that’s fine.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Shane mutters, chuckling despite everything. “Don’t ever say any of those words in the same sentence ever again.”

Ryan smiles. “Sure thing, baby.”

  
  


* * *

Something they neglected to take into account was just how to play this off once the rest of the crew arrives.

Fortunately, Ryan gathers them around the firepit and gives them a quick rundown. Ryan being Ryan, this consists of grinning like a maniac and clearing his throat like he’s about to give an acceptance speech at an awards show. 

“So this is gonna sound weird, but just go with it if you run into any Bergaras besides me and they happen to mention my boyfriend.”

Behind her mask, Brittney’s jaw drops. 

Katie narrows her eyes, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Steven glances between them, silently pointing a finger from Ryan to Shane and back again. “Wait. What?”

Shane tries to estimate how much longer it’s going to be before he’s drunk enough to handle this. Ryan, unfazed, claps him on the shoulder. “Long story short, the Shanester proved yet again he’s a master of miscommunication and we are not busting my parents’ bubble.”

“I’m confused,” Katie says simply. “But I think we can all agree we don’t have time to be confused. So. Let’s get set up. And no funny business in front of the camera.”

If Shane wasn’t in a brand-new committed relationship in the middle of a pandemic, he’d be tempted to kiss her.

Getting ready to film is a relief he wasn’t expecting. It’s not as if they have to expend much effort getting into character, but for Shane at least it comes with a certain shift to his demeanor. Shane on camera doesn’t get to be nervous or beat himself up about lying to Ryan’s mom. Too Many Spirits Shane gets to be louche and droll and easygoing, and he slips into that version of himself with the gratefulness of collapsing into bed at the end of a long day.

“Welcome to Too Many Spirits, use the booze edition!” he announces, doing some riffing once Steven starts filming. “On today’s episode of our renowned mixology series, we’ll be showing you a few things to do with all those half-empty bottles left over from Christmas. Let’s get some spooky stories and cocktail ideas for the new year, may it be better than the last, to quote Counting Crows.”

“Easy there, Ryan Seacrest,” Katie says. 

“Ooh, can we just intro this with as many catchphrases as possible?” Ryan clears his throat and gives his cheesiest smile. “Are you scared of the new year? Well, we’ve got some weird and/or wonderful ideas, homemade by Steven Lim. Here’s what you do!”

Katie looks pained. “I don’t know why you would want to, but sure. It’s not like you’re going to sue yourselves for copyright infringement.”

“To be clear,” Shane adds, “we are filming this before 2021, but we hope it’s awesome.” 

For about an hour, things go as smoothly as can be expected. Steven’s take on rum punch is actually pretty decent and Shane’s working his way up to a nice buzz. It’s Ryan’s turn to narrate, but he barely makes it through the subject line before dissolving into a fit of giggles. 

“‘Hallmark movie mind control,’” he tries again, only tittering once. “‘This one time, my friend and I printed off bingo cards of stuff to watch for when we were binging cheesy holiday movies.’”

“This is already terrifying,” Shane interjects. 

“‘You can find them online if you look up Hallmark bingo for whatever holiday you want. We had a fun time, but now I can’t stop seeing bingo squares happening in real life. The other day, I went for a run, but instead of enjoying it I just kept tracking my bingo progress. I saw snow, ugly sweaters, and both red and green pickup trucks. All totally normal for winter in Colorado, right? But it’s like I can’t turn off the bingo-playing part of my brain. I think the Hallmark channel is doing some festive mind control shit.’” 

With a flourish, he sets the paper down. “Nine out of ten, easy.”

Shane blinks. “That’s it?”

“Look, the cable and wireless companies are tracking your watching habits and mining your data, right?” Ryan’s eyes are sparkling with anticipation of a good bit. “We all know that, but we don’t like to think about it. Free will is an illusion. That’s reality and that’s the scariest thing of all. Nine out of ten.”

“Really? I give it a five. They lost points for their taste in movies.”

“Ohhh, you’re gonna get all film snob on ’em, I see.”

“I do think they’re probably onto something,” Shane acknowledges. “Let me look this up and get back to you.”

When there’s a lull where Steven, back to his dual role of bartender and camera guy, has to change camera batteries, Shane snags his phone off the ground and does just that. He’s not prepared to be as appalled as he is. 

“This is uncomfortably accurate,” he tells Ryan. “Like...right down to the precocious child saying something heartwarmingly prescient. We’ve also got twinkle lights, a misunderstood situation, and cozy sweaters.” 

He flails unnecessarily towards the decorations. Leaning in beside him, Ryan is indeed wearing a ghost hoodie half unzipped over his portrait shirt so that his five-year-old self is peeks out from between the two halves. By Shane’s standards, that definitely counts as a cozy sweater.

“Here’s another one,” he goes on. “Flashback to childhood? We’re literally in your childhood home. Aloof boyfriend? I guess that’s both of us, since we had no idea we were boyfriends until this afternoon. I think we’ve got a bingo here, actually.”

Ryan frowns and squints at his phone. “Wait. Is Jake supposed to be the magical precocious child? He’s not Tiny Tim.”

“Maybe not, but he did come up to me and say ‘Hey, I’m so glad you and Ryan got together; god bless us, every one!’”

Ryan laughs so hard he almost loses his balance. “He did not.”

“Okay, like two thirds of that statement is true,” Shane admits. “But! It still stands. I’m telling you, we are reenacting a Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“First of all, there are way too many brown people here for that. Second, you’re insane. It’s not even Christmas anymore, you dumbass.”

“That makes it even worse!”

“You know what, we wouldn’t be checking those ‘misunderstood situation’ and ‘aloof boyfriend’ boxes if you hadn’t dug us into this hole. But If you don’t want to be my holidate, you should’ve dug yourself out of it.”

“Holi— _what_? This is just like when you got all offended I didn’t want to be your Sasquatch half-brother.”

Ryan presses a hand to his heart. “Please don’t bring that up now, baby. I can’t be thinking of interspecies incest when we make love.”

Steven clears his throat. “Wow, okay. Uh, I’m ready when you guys are.”

“You got it, friendly neighborhood bartender.” Shane flashes him a thumbs-up. “Gimme something nice and strong.”

  
  


* * *

They start to lose it by the sixth ghost story.

Shane is two glasses into Steven’s New Year, New Brew concoction and feeling pretty great about himself. “Okay, here’s a nice callback from, uh, genderfluidmothperson,” he announces, brandishing his next card. “‘Hey. So I have the same thing as Ryan where my belly button is wired weird.’” 

“It’s not wired weird!” Ryan protests. “Think of it as a bonus erogenous zone. I learned that from someone on the Discord.”

“Right. Discord, that secret hangout of medical professionals the world over.” Shane tips the remains of his drink into his mouth and continues. “‘One time I spent New Year’s Eve at my friend’s house and his ferret sneezed on me. I woke up the next day with hives all over my upper body and my belly button was just flooded with blood. Everyone says that I had an allergic reaction and was scratching myself in my sleep, but I think it’s because I was cursed...by a ferret.’”

Ryan throws back his head and howls with laughter.

Everything goes drunkenly downhill from there. 

Once you hit the cursed-by-ferrets point of the night, Shane supposes, there really isn’t any other trajectory.

He and Ryan spring up to add hearts and cupids to the trees behind them a couple times, which does indeed keep Ryan from getting drowsy while making their decorations match their mental states in terms of sheer chaos. They have another Log Bros interlude, which results in Shane spilling a drink in his lap _again_ when Ryan tries to toss a log his way without warning. They have a sudden sentimental sidebar where they toast to Steven for being the best—and only—bartender and camera guy double threat they know.

“Emphasis on _threat_ ,” Ryan quips, making a face as he samples their final cocktail. “Did you strain this through a sock?”

“Ryan, don’t be rude.” Shane gives him a look of mock-reproach, dimly aware that it’s probably going to be immortalized in gif form after this episode airs. “You know where we’d be without Steven? Probably sobbing in despair.”

It’s not even that much of an exaggeration. He and Ryan have similar ignorance on similar issues and they’re blissfully aware of it. Not much in the way of business acumen, minimal organization skills, no head for numbers. A lot of the time, even a year into helming their own company, Steven still ends up picking up the slack. Steven, magical spreadsheet elf—and sometime bartending elf—that he is, is the real tactician of their team and it’s a little unfair. He has enough on his plate already, food shows notwithstanding. He didn’t have to drop everything to help make Shane’s stoned-off-his-ass Christmas promise a reality, but here they are. Katie, Brittney, and even Ryan himself would have been well within their rights to refuse and rake him over the coals for being such an idiot. Even Ryan’s family has been showing Shane more kindness than he deserves. They knew that he couldn’t go home for the holidays, so they welcomed him into their own.

Shane has never been a particularly sentimental drunk, but this is a pretty unconventional confluence of circumstances. Getting emotional in the middle of the Bergara backyard has never been on his to-do list, but neither was a whole new TMS season or accidentally acquiring a boyfriend. 

“Sobbing in despair still isn’t totally off the table, not gonna lie.” Ryan takes another sip and shudders. “But yeah, fine. Good ol’ Liminy Cricket really is our conscience.”

Shane snorts into his glass and hopes it sounds more like a laugh than a sob of his own.

* * *

Afterwards, they’re banned from handling bottles or camera equipment, quite justifiably, so they supervise. This consists of lounging in their lawn chairs and hydrating.

“Nope!” Brittney yelps when Shane tries to collapse a tripod. “We’ve got this. Stay one Shane apart!”

He holds out his arms and gives an unsteady spin. “Here I am. One Shane, apart.”

“Okay, emo kid.” Katie says dryly. “I think it’s past your bedtime. Explain the boyfriend thing to me again when you’re not shitfaced, okay? I get the feeling there’s a lot more to the story.”

Ryan hoots. “You have no idea.”

“Shut it, Bergara,” Shane says without rancor as he pours himself back into his chair. On second thought, he changes course and sprawls onto the ground beside it, letting his eyes drift closed. “Drive safe, guys, okay?”

He’s only dimly aware of the team finishing their cleanup and pulling out of the driveway. Everything is warm and sleepy, like the world at large has been tucked around him like a weighted blanket. Nothing matters but the crackle of the fire and the tickle of grass on the back of his neck.

There's a thud as Ryan stretches out beside him. “You awake, big guy?”

Even with the fire pit on his other side, he's close enough for Shane to feel the heat heaving off him, a bright throbbing heart in the chill of the darkness. He slits his eyes open to find Ryan's already gazing at him, warm and sparking with mischief.

“We did it,” Shane says, grinning and giddy. The fire leaps alongside them, popping and dancing in time with his pulse. “Season three, holy shit.”

“We sure did,” Ryan huffs, laughter buffing along his words. “Did you decide, by the way? Are you gonna stay with me or in the guest room?” 

“I still really like the yard. I could totally crash out here under the stars.”

“Nope, not while we’re dating,” Ryan replies. “I am not letting my man do that. My mom would disown me.”

Shane gives a noncommittal hum. “It’s cozy out here.”

“Inside is cozy as fuck, I promise. Don't make this any weirder,” Ryan groans, heaving himself up onto his knees and extending an arm. “Let’s get you up, c’mon.”

Shane doesn’t take it. “Oh, dude, speaking of weird. Are you gonna go to the doctor to get your funny little belly-button-to-wiener connection checked out?” 

It’s a wonder Ryan’s eyeballs don’t roll right out of his head. “Yeah, Shane, lemme just get a ride to the ER drunk as a skunk and try to explain that.”

It certainly isn’t Shane’s fault that he’s roughly eye level with Ryan’s stomach. He reaches out, feathers his fingers down the front of his shirt. There’s a sharp hiss of air, either from Ryan or from a log succumbing to the flames. Shane can’t quite tell which. “Does it only happen when you’re the one doing it?”

“You think I'm out here getting other people to do it? I’ve said a lot of weird stuff, but ‘hey, jam your finger in my belly button and let's see if I can feel it in my dick,’ is not something that comes up organically.”

“You have no respect for the scientific method,” Shane wheezes. He’s grinning so hard his face aches, but he can’t stop. His finger catches at the hem of Ryan’s oversized shirt, giving a little tug. “You’ve gotta collect evidence, you know?”

“That sounds very scientific, you’re right,” Ryan agrees, with just a hint of indulgence. “Let’s get to bed now, okay?” 

“It’s true,” Shane says dreamily. “You really are, like...wired funny. You ever wanna find out where else you're connected? Say, for example…if I boop you on the nose, do you feel it in your left foot? If I blow a raspberry on your tummy, will it make you sneeze?”

Ryan giggles. “You’re so fucking drunk. And I have no fucking idea. I guess I’m just not as scientifically minded as you.”

“Can I try?” Shane asks. He doesn’t have the presence of mind to be alarmed by his boldness. “I mean, can I help you collect evidence?”

For the first time, Ryan looks a little surprised. “Shit. For real? You wanna...” He makes a crude gesture with one finger and the encircled thumb and forefinger of his opposite hand. Shane’s aware that the circle is meant to represent his belly button in this context, but the motion elicits thoughts of a little more than that. 

“Yeah, if you’re down for it. Gonna let me finger your button, baby?” He draws the word out in a way that's usually sardonic but slides into something else this time. He’s drunk enough not to care.

“Sure,” Ryan says unexpectedly, giving a shrug. “What the hell. You're basically a doctor.”

And then he’s toppling onto his back again, writhing until his shirt rides up. A firelit sprite meeting Shane’s eyes with flushed cheeks and a grin so brilliant it puts all the Christmas lights to shame.

“Get to it, doc.” Ryan flutters his lashes and swoons showily. “Doctor Madej, come quick, there's something wrong with me.”

“There are so many things wrong with you,” Shane mutters. He’s eased himself up onto his knees and his hands have settled on Ryan’s hips, flexing over the small strip of bare skin and the fabric of his tee without pushing it up any further. A little hysterically, he shoves aside the thought of coaxing Ryan out of his clothes entirely, of stretching him out bare and beautiful and bathed in firelight. “I don't think I can do this with five-year-old Ryan staring at me,” he says honestly. Ryan's portrait shirt is very endearing but also unsettling, much like Ryan himself. “You think maybe…”

Without hesitating, Ryan tugs it up until it's bunched under his arms, exposing an unfair amount of smooth brown skin and listing against Shane in the process. “There you go. Baby Ry is out of the picture.” 

“He...he sure is,” Shane agrees. He’s staring, there’s no helping it. 

Ryan wrinkles his nose and squirms at the sensation of grass against his back, his body arching in a mesmerizing ripple of muscle that prompts a nervous chuckle from Shane’s throat. He palms Ryan’s stomach with one hand, trying to soothe him and get him used to the feel of his hand. 

Under him, Ryan’s eyelids flutter. He doesn’t seem to be playing it up this time. 

The first dip of Shane’s fingertip into his navel makes Ryan gasp.

“You feel that?” Shane asks softly.

“Yeah.” Ryan’s voice is even softer but somehow it registers with the intensity of a shout, like a whiplash of smoke. “Fuck.”

“Both places?” Shane withdraws his finger and eases it back inside. This time, he puts a little more pressure behind it.

Ryan’s eyes are still closed, his mouth slack. He could be on the verge of sleep or the verge of an orgasm. He nods.

“Interesting,” Shane murmurs, for lack of anything else to say, and he leans in closer. Ryan smells like a campfire, earthy and smoky in a way that makes Shane hungry to keep inhaling him. He didn't think the night would lead to Ryan getting his belly button fingered and he can't pinpoint when exactly it turned into a haphazard playing-doctor thing, but there’s no turning back now. 

Besides, it’s not as if either of them are complaining.

“Very interesting. I'm definitely noticing an increased heart rate.”

“Yours or mine?” Ryan demands, his eyes flying open and giving Shane a quick up-and-down. “You're looking kind of hot and bothered here.”

“We're next to a fire and I'm penetrating my best friend,” Shane says in what he thinks is a logical tone of voice. “I'd say that warrants a little botheration.”

Ryan hums contemplatively. His eyes are practically all pupil, glittering beneath the shadows of his lashes. “You gonna do it with your tongue now?” 

Shane can’t remember if that was ever mentioned, but it’s sure as hell being mentioned _now_. He can only imagine Ryan squirming under him, warm and wanton, caught between the feel of grass against his bare skin on one side and the wet scorch of Shane’s tongue on the other. Maybe he’d catch his fingers in Shane’s hair just to have something to hold onto. Maybe he’d slip a hand down between his thighs. 

There’s no unthinking that thought. Shane swallows.

“Can I?”

“You can.” Ryan’s voice is like the crackle of kindling, white-hot and so very vulnerable. “But I can think of a couple other things you can do with it. If you wanted to.”

“Okay.” Shane nods fractionally, not daring to blink. “I...I need you to show me.”

Ryan surges off the ground and catches him around the back of the neck.

That’s another turn Shane never anticipated the night taking, but here they are. Ryan pulls him in, guides him as close as he can. Shane lets himself be drawn down to the grass, down to Ryan, who wraps his other arm around him and hiccups a laugh into his ear.

And he kisses him

There are going to be grass stains on his knees. Shane has never cared less about anything in his life.

Shane kisses him back, hard and heedless, pouring everything he has into it. 

Ryan strains against him, holding Shane even tighter, as if he’s trying to physically prevent the moment from slipping away. He draws his teeth against Shane’s lower lip, a gentle frisson of heat.

Shane involuntarily opens his mouth, lets Ryan ease his tongue inside. When he closes his eyes, fire leaps behind his lids, between his legs, in every choked-off moan Ryan utters against his lips.

It’s messy—they’re both tired and several drinks in and too old to be rolling around on the lawn like horny teenagers. Their mouths meet over and over, sloppy and greedy, until Ryan rolls them in a sudden show of strength Shane isn’t at all prepared for, but what else is new.

“I have an idea,” Ryan says. He’s on his knees now, legs spread wide across Shane’s hips. There’s a very evident bulge in the front of his jeans, albeit one Shane only catches a glimpse of before his shirt falls down to cover it. 

“So.” Ryan grins down at him. He sounds like he’s just run a mile, chest heaving, hair askew from where Shane’s fingers have been combing through it. “My parents are in bed by now and Jake's room doesn't face this way. But if they get a glimpse, then we're _really_ selling the whole we're-a-couple thing.”

Shane freezes, even though the compulsion to push Ryan’s shirt over his head is almost unbearable. “Shit.”

Ryan catches him around the nape with one hand, drawing him in close until his beard rasps the joint of Shane’s jaw and his breath is soft and rum-warm against his ear. “I think I wanna take this out of the waiting room and into your office now. Your office is my room, just so we’re clear.”

“Oh,” Shane breathes. 

“You okay with that, doc?” Ryan nuzzles his cheek, laughter bubbling out of him like champagne. His fingers have found their way to the back of Shane’s head, threading into his hair. “You okay with touching me some more once I get you inside?”

“Yes.” Shane kisses him, then kisses him again. “Yes, Jesus, I'm more than okay with it.”

“Good,” Ryan says, and smiles, and holds out a hand for him.

He's trembling when he takes it. 


	3. Chapter 3

They totter inside hand in hand, easing the sliding glass doors open and closed again as silently as they can. It’s a valiant effort, one that’s completely cancelled out by the smothered sounds spilling from both of them as they try to keep from laughing. 

“I feel,” Shane says in a low voice, “like you’re sneaking me in after a school dance or something. Like I was supposed to drop you off and give you a goodnight kiss at the door.”

Ryan looks ready to explode from trying to hold back a cascade of giggles. “And then what? You’ll give me your letter jacket?”

Shane glances down at himself, the pink button-down he’d worn as a nod to Valentine’s Day still not completely dry from his party foul earlier in the night. “Would you accept a slightly damp shirt?”

“Yes,” Ryan says unhesitatingly, looking up at him with eyes gone half-lidded and guileless. There’s a flush tinting his cheeks, barely visible in the glow of the deck lights outside. It makes an ache crystallize behind Shane’s ribs. 

Ryan steps a little closer to him, there at the base of the stairs. He glances down, assessing, then plants both his feet on the first step without dropping Shane’s hand. They’re almost eye level with one another. Ryan grins, slow and sweet and clearly incredibly proud of himself. “Whatever you’re willing to give me. Yes.”

“Okay.” Shane’s breath is too sharp in his lungs. “I can do that. I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever even _touched_ a letter jacket, but I can do whatever you want.” He ducks his face against Ryan’s, the scrape of their cheeks like the rasp of firewood settling before bursting ablaze. “What do you want?”

He closes his eyes, waiting, as Ryan sucks in a sharp breath of his own. His fingers tighten between Shane’s, locking them together until there’s no space left.

“I want to take you upstairs and then sneak you up to my room like we're in high school, yeah,” Ryan tells him. He lets go of the railing with his other hand and reaches out, holding himself steady with Shane’s shoulder. The warmth of it bleeds through Shane’s hoodie, through the button-down underneath, surging under his skin and taking root in his bones. Wherever the night ends up, he’s positive that he’s going to carry the impression of Ryan’s touch with him forever. 

Ryan isn’t finished. “And I want you to keep living out your funny little doctor bit and figure out how I’m wired. Then I want to get you all laid out in my bed and see how you're wired too. And then I want to do it all over again when we're not incredibly wasted.” 

Shane leans in and kisses him again, soft and lush. 

“I wanna touch you all over and get my mouth all over you and make you feel so good you don't have a chance to be nervous.” Ryan’s voice is barely more than a whisper; Shane can feel the susurration of every word against his lips. 

“You okay with that, Shane? I'll let you stay with me all night and sneak you back out in the morning so you can pretend you crashed in the guest room. Or we can skip that last part if you’re cool with it.” The timbre of his voice and heat of his mouth against Shane’s jaw suggest that Ryan himself is very much cool with it. 

“Fuck the guest room,” Shane says decisively. 

Ryan buries a grin against the side of his neck. “That’s the spirit. That’s ten out of ten spirits. That’s... _too many_ —”

“Jesus Christ.” Shane sidesteps past him, a loopy smile spreading over his face. He gives Ryan’s hand a tug. “Come on, you big dork, let’s finish your exam.”

They collide their way up the stairs and into Ryan's room.

It’s strange to be learning new ways to communicate with Ryan after knowing him for so many years. Strange, but not unpleasant. There are times when Shane can read Ryan with his eyes closed. He can interpret the difference between Ryan’s gasps of surprise and terror with ease, he’s catalogued the cadences of his laughter.

Getting to add touch into the mix while Ryan is already wearing every heartbeat on his sleeve is almost too easy. 

“What about this?” Shane asks, hushed as a secret. The door snicks closed behind them and Ryan sinks against it, mouth parted. Shane draws the backs of his knuckles against Ryan’s cheekbone, the warmth and the rasp of it somehow both startling and familiar. “Can you feel this anywhere else?”

“Yeah.” Ryan’s eyes are luminous, each blink of them like Christmas lights flickering out. “Right up my spine.”

“Is that good?”

Ryan laughs quietly, his eyes creasing at the corners. He dances his fingers over the first fastened button of Shane’s shirt and undoes it. “I think it’s pretty good.”

“How about here?” Shane kisses his neck. 

“Shane,” Ryan says, strained. His breath catches in the back of his throat.

“Shh. Where do you feel it?”

Ryan gestures vaguely to his chest. His nipples are hard, the nubs of them clearly evident through his tee. Shane has an urge to rub his thumb against one of them and see how Ryan responds, but he’s still wearing his stupid self-portrait shirt and it feels weirdly taboo to be feeling Ryan up in his childhood bedroom while his childhood self looks on. 

“I think,” Ryan murmurs, “I need to lie down.”

Shane reluctantly lets his hands drop back to his sides. “Sure, yeah, we’ve had a lot to drink, that’s probably—”

“With _you_ , dipshit.”

“Oh,” Shane says dumbly. 

Ryan takes him by the wrist. “Yeah. _Oh_.” 

He pulls, sprawls them both into his bed in a tangle of limbs.

It turns out there are many places on Ryan’s body Shane can touch that make his own head spiral. Each kiss of Ryan’s skin against his own makes his cock throb in his underwear, makes him squirm until he forgets a few more of his reservations. Ryan is a work of art spread out under him. He’s shucked off his hoodie at some point—Shane vaguely recalls helping push it off his shoulders—and his tee is bunched halfway up his middle. 

Shane steadies him with a hand flat to his belly. “Shhhh,” he soothes him again, massaging gently. “Let me see what else you're dealing with.” Ryan’s skin is warm and taut under his touch. He lets the pad of his finger circle the rim of Ryan’s navel once more, pressing the tip inside until he feels resistance. 

Ryan’s eyelids shutter and he makes a sound that’s almost a whine. “Fuuuuuck.”

Contemplatively, Shane tilts his head. “We should probably get a look at the other part of the problem too.”

“Did you just call my dick a problem?” Ryan demands. He looks down at his groin. “Don't listen to him, buddy, you're not a problem.”

“I don’t know if I can handle it if you’re gonna keep having conversations with your penis.”

“Medical roleplay is a gateway to all kinds of deviance,” Ryan says sweetly. “Who knew?”

He does, however, unbutton his pants. 

Outside, the moon is nearly full but nibbled down to a smear of cloud-covered crescent. It pales in comparison to Ryan’s grin as he wriggles out from underneath him. 

“What do you think, is this a good look?” He’s kicked off his jeans and is in the process of stripping his socks off as well. The t-shirt is long enough to be a minidress on him, brushing the tops of his thighs. Ryan gives his hips a little shimmy.

Shane’s mouth goes dry. His lungs seize up as if there’s suddenly not enough air in the room, but then Ryan’s lips are on his throat, parted over his pulse, coaxing the breath back into him. 

“Yeah,” Shane whispers. His hands settle on Ryan’s hips, nudging the fabric up a bit more. Something in the back of his mind is hollering at him to slow down, to do a litmus check of the situation, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “I wanna see you, is that okay?”

Ryan’s laugh is the peal of a bell.

Whatever happens next, Shane can’t say. In some order, he ends up with his shirt undone and hanging off him, with Ryan’s palms skating over his nipples, with his hands reaching under Ryan’s absurd shirt to slide off his underwear the same way he’s done with every ex-girlfriend he’s ever had.

“Stay with me,” Ryan murmurs as he tugs at Shane’s clothes, even though they’re way less than one Shane apart. He’s got his thighs parted over Shane’s lap, his spine undulating under Shane’s hands. Shane can’t remember how they ended up like this, with him against the headboard and Ryan slinging one strong bare thigh over him, moving against him in a slow, sensual grind. 

The portrait shirt is still on, rucked up around Ryan’s hips just high enough to give Shane a glimpse of the underside of cock. Somehow, that seems dirtier than having him naked. It makes Shane want to strip him bare but also prolong the moment as long as possible.

Ryan’s breathing hitches high in his throat as Shane’s fingers dip underneath the fabric and close around his dick, learning the heat and thickness of it. “ _Fuck_. Stay with me, okay?” 

“Easy,” Shane says. “Don't want to wake up your mom and dad, that’d be really awkward.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Are you kidding? My parents have been playing their own game of Too Many Spirits ever since dad busted out the Patron. They're out like a couple of rocks.” He rolls his hips, fucking into Shane’s fist, his smile a white slice of mirth in the darkness. “Also don't bring up parents again unless you’re calling me daddy.” 

He winks and slides his shirt over his head.

Shane sputters.

“I haven't forgotten how the professor almost called me dad that one time, you know,” Ryan tells him, unabashed in his nakedness and his choice of conversation while Shane has a hand around his dick. His fingers are tracing abstract patterns down Shane’s ribs, teasing and ticklish. “That’s the kind of thing that really sticks with you.” 

“Ry—” Shane starts, a little aghast at how plaintive his voice sounds. 

“Speaking of sticky, what the fuck? How do you keep doing this to yourself?” He runs a hand down Shane’s abdomen, where triple sec and rum have dried tacky on his skin. “You wanna clean up some more, or are you okay being messy?”

Apparently the garbled whimper Shane utters is enough of an answer because Ryan doesn’t wait for any additional response. Ryan squirms against him, nosing along Shane’s collarbone and working his way down until his cheek is nuzzling the trail of hair below Shane’s navel.

Shane’s body surges helplessly, fingers catching at Ryan’s hair. 

Ryan pauses pensively, lips quirking when their eyes lock. “You all messy down here too?” His mouth parts low on Shane’s stomach, tongue a warm flash of slickness beside his hip bone.

“Yeah,” Shane admits, almost dizzy with how badly he wants to come. He lifts his hips, hears Ryan’s soft hum melding with the burr of a zipper being drawn down.

Everything pop-flashes into a Mobius strip of pleasure. Shane is melting. He’s on his back one moment, naked, knees splayed, inviting Ryan’s hands on the insides of his thighs. Then he’s got Ryan sprawled under him again, his hands smoothing over his back and cock slick against his belly. And somehow he’s nuzzling the downy hair of Ryan’s belly while he also has Ryan’s teeth latched onto the join of his neck while at the same time mapping the jut of his cock with his mouth. It doesn’t matter. He didn’t go into this with a plan beyond laying Ryan down, getting to see him and touch him and learn his body in as many ways as Ryan would let him. Time and direction are tertiary elements at best. 

The peaks of Ryan’s nipples are hard and tight when he puts his mouth to them. Shane lingers there for a long time, marveling in the way Ryan’s body bucks and arches for him. He loses himself for eons in the smoothness of his shoulders, in the fine hairs at his nape, in the act of simply trying to consume as much of Ryan as possible with touch alone. 

They settle into each other, finding a rhythm, intertwined in the center of Ryan’s rumpled bed with Shane pressed up behind him. His cock is hard against the small of Ryan's back, the swell of his ass, but if it gives Ryan pause he never shows it. What Ryan _does_ show him is exactly where and how he’d like to be touched. He pushes out his chest for Shane's nimble fingers when they pluck at his nipples, gritting out _harder_ in a voice so wrecked that Shane almost misses it. He lets his head fall back against Shane’s collarbone, rutting rhythmically against him with a fluid grace that’s too lewd to be anything but deliberate. 

Ryan cranes his neck, smears a kiss against the side of Shane’s neck with his hot mouth. “Keep touching me.”

He’s so close, just from the friction of Ryan against him, from his cock catching between the join of his thighs. “‘I got you, ’s okay,” he murmurs, as if he has any idea which way is up by now. But when Shane reaches down to touch him, Ryan’s hand is already there, a blur of motion over his cock. 

“No, put your— _fuck_ ,” Ryan whines. “Put it in, like—just like—” 

Shane can barely process hearing those words in Ryan’s voice, and it sounds like Ryan is barely able to say them. “I thought—” he starts, his hand opening and closing helplessly over Ryan’s thigh. 

Ryan fumbles for his wrist, guiding his hand higher, and that’s when Shane gets it. “Ohhh, I see. This really is a thing for you.” 

He sinks a fingertip into Ryan’s navel, pressing hard. 

Ryan makes a choked little whimper. He doesn’t miss a beat, jerking himself hard and fast. “ _Yeah_. Fuck, I’m _really_ fucking close, keep doing it.”

Shane’s other hand comes up to rub gently at one of his abused nipples. “You gonna come like this?” he asks, peering down over Ryan’s shoulder, entranced by the play of their touches over his body. “I want to see, Ryan.” 

He pinches his nipple a final time, trails his fingers up the cords of Ryan’s neck and higher, until Ryan is catching at the tips of them with his mouth. “Can you show me?”

Ryan jolts and makes a muffled sound around two of Shane’s fingers. His tongue is so hot against them. Shane clutches him tighter, fingers his slick little belly button until Ryan twitches, his body a thrill of pure captive energy.

There are so many mistakes Shane has made lately, but he’s suddenly sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that this isn’t one. The only regret he has is that he can’t see Ryan’s face when he whimpers and comes against the underside of his wrist. 

Shane’s head is pounding, a mix of alcohol and amazement and the feel of Ryan writhing hot and taut and shattered in his arms. He buries his nose in the damp curls at the back of Ryan’s head and strokes his belly, taking in the sensation of newly slick skin and still-trembling muscles. 

“Fuuuuck.” Ryan sounds like he might not even be on the planet anymore. He lets Shane’s fingers drop from his mouth, leaving trails of wetness down his chin. “Nailed it.”

Shane barks out a laugh against his temple. “You or me?”

He’s barely finished saying it when Ryan moves again, twisting so they're face to face. His thumb traces the crest of Shane’s cheekbone. “That was all you,” he declares, almost solemnly. Then he shoves lightly at his shoulder, urging Shane onto his back. 

Before Shane has a chance to process it, Ryan is covering him like a living blanket. “I'm gonna let you,” Ryan mumbles into his neck. His pupils are black pools when he lifts his head, the irises almost entirely swallowed up by them. Shane gets the impression he’s responding to something, though he doesn’t remember what he might have said to prompt it. “Gonna really take my time and take you apart one of these days. You want that too, Shane? Want me to let you all the way in?” 

Shane’s whole body spasms with how much he wants it. He sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek. 

Ryan grins down at him and pushes up onto his knees. Between their bodies, his hand finds Shane’s dick and gives it a slow, tight stroke. “Bet you'd make me beg for it, wouldn't you, big guy? Bet you'd take your time until I was ready to cry just because you don't want to hurt me when you fuck me for the first time. Bet you'd take forever just sinking inside me.”

It's the _fuck_ that does it.

Not the word in and of itself; Shane’s always known Ryan has a penchant for profanity. It’s more about the fact that he’s never heard it tuned to this frequency before. There’s something about the way _fuck_ sounds in Ryan’s mouth when he’s using it as an invitation instead of an exclamation. 

It’s an invitation Shane’s imagination seizes on greedily, supplying image after image of him wrapped up in Ryan, kissing the moans from his mouth as he squirms in his lap. Ryan straddling his hips like he’s doing now, letting Shane’s dick ride up between the cheeks of his ass, bluntly rubbing the tight clench of his hole until Shane spills against him. Ryan letting Shane’s fingers stroke curiously over the tight furl of his hole, twitching and slick with come. Shane breaching him with a fingertip and Ryan wailing over the sound of their own throbbing pulses, his eyes glossy with desire, skin glistening where Shane's mouth has touched it. Maybe he’d turn onto his hands and knees to let Shane lap him clean. Maybe he’d sink down onto him so slowly his thighs shook, his solid little body rippling with pleasure as it stretched tight around his cock

Shane hides his face, slack-mouthed, riding out his orgasm into Ryan’s fist.

Ryan strokes him through the aftershocks, keeps talking.

“You're gonna have to be careful with those fingers, though,” he cautions. “I'm not made of glass, but don't treat me like that glass you busted that one time.” His mouth seeks out Shane’s. Their breath mingles, heavy. 

When he opens his eyes, Ryan is watching him with something like wonder.

“It sounds,” Shane says weakly, “uh, sounds like you've given this some thought.” 

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. Raw-throated, like the words are clawing their way out of him. “So much thought, man. Thought for days.” 

Shane wants to linger on that admission, tease apart its threads and see what's woven into it. But he's also exhausted. The combined aftereffects of sex, booze, and staying up late are all dragging him down like sandbags, and Ryan's body is opening to him like a warm sunrise. He's a study in gold and shadow, a banquet of rich hues smeared by an overeager artist. Shane wants to bask in him until it lulls him to sleep.

“I'm gonna kiss you some more now,” Shane tells him. Something ignites in him, too bold to be contained. “If you want me to, I’d really, really like to kiss you some more. Like, for the foreseeable future kind of more.”

“Shane,” Ryan whispers, watching him with wide, trusting eyes. And then he’s sliding them shut and sliding his way back against Shane’s body, offering up his bare beautiful skin and his sweet wet mouth. He’s all tenderness now, no trace of the brazenly filthy version of himself that was purring enticements into Shane’s ear just a few minutes ago. Shane’s heart contracts with how much he wants to keep him, all sides of him, all the ways Ryan will let him.

Ryan says it again, the sigh of Shane’s name spilling from his lips like a devotion. “Shane. Please.”

Shane curls his arms around him, holding him close, and does.

* * *

He wakes up with a heavy head and Ryan's phone digging into his cheek. That’s the first thing Shane registers in the morning.

He fumbles his fingers around the phone and tries to shove it out of the way, which causes the home screen to flicker to life. This makes the second thing Shane registers a text from Jake. 

_I would tell you to get a room but 😑_

“Oh no,” Shane mutters.

He sets the phone on the nightstand and considers fleeing while Ryan sleeps on, at least half naked and with bite marks on his chest, which is the third thing he registers.

He has a strong suspicion that, if he peels back the blanket, he’ll find Ryan significantly more than half naked. 

With a grimace, Shane tries to edge himself off the bed without waking him.

Ryan turns over.

Shane didn’t know it was even possible to be attacked by so many feelings at once. Part of him is terrified he’s done it again, that he’s taken something too far and is only belatedly realizing the consequences of it. Another part of him is daring to hope that isn’t the case, that last night wasn’t just another version of him saying the wrong thing and having to face the music afterward. And the rest of him is turning inside out with tenderness just from seeing Ryan do his best impression of a sleepy puppy.

He has a vague recollection of thinking, in a star-pure moment of clarity last night, that everything was going to be okay. Drunk Shane has a hell of a lot more confidence than morning-after Shane.

He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again Ryan is looking at him.

More than that, Ryan is _smiling_ at him, soft-edged and sweet. “Hey.” 

That’s all it takes for Shane’s apprehension to untwist itself and turn into nothing at all. He smiles back, lightheaded with relief and probably mild dehydration. “Hey.”

“You know you can still stay with me, right?”

Shane gestures at the state of the bed in general. “I was just gonna go shower, I promise.”

“Ugh. Too early,” Ryan mumbles, which is correct even though he has no way of knowing what time it is. Outside, the sun has barely broken over the horizon. “It’s gonna be a rough morning no matter what. But I bet my mom is gonna have soup ready for us later. You should sleep more first.”

He sounds so sincere, so sure of himself. Shane lets himself be drawn back into bed and nestles against Ryan, laying his head on his chest. They’re both disgusting, but Shane thinks he can forgo his morning ablutions a little longer. 

It’s worth it, for the sake of Ryan’s heartbeat under his cheek, Ryan’s fingers combing through his hair.

Breakfast, when they eventually make it downstairs, isn’t the most awkward meal Shane’s ever had, but it’s up there.

They’ve both dressed and showered, which was an ordeal in and of itself. Ryan had gone first and then signaled Shane into the hall for his turn like a Mission Impossible extra to indicate the coast was clear of anyone who might spot him looking post-coital. Subtlety has never been his middle name.

Even though Shane is wearing clean clothes and practically drowned himself in Ryan’s body wash, he’s sure that he’s radiating “I boned your son” energy. 

Linda sets a pair of bowls on the table in front of them. Shane doesn’t move a muscle. “Looks great, thank you,” he says, probably looking and sounding like a ventriloquist’s dummy. 

She doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, other than Ryan slumping despondently into his folded arms. He didn’t seem that groggy earlier, which makes Shane wonder if maybe Ryan is playing up his hangover to distract from said “I boned your son” energy. 

“Miso soup and green tea,” Linda says. “A couple of tried and true hangover helpers. Ryan, sit up and eat something.” 

Ryan obliges, emerging from the pillow of his arms. “Thank you, mama,” he says weakly.

He’s stirring turmeric into his soup and trying to convince Shane even his lily-white taste buds can handle it when Jake comes in. He’s dressed for the gym and looks like he’s making a beeline for the front door. Then he catches sight of Shane and Ryan and reroutes himself.

“Hey, good morning.” He takes a seat across from Ryan, helping himself to a corner of his toast.

Ryan glances up, a wary look in his eyes. “Morning.” Shane gives him a wave.

“So,” Jake says brightly. “It sounded like you guys had a fun time last night. All that banging.”

Ryan winces. Shane glances frantically around for any roving Bergara parents.

“When you were packing up all the bottles, I mean.” Jake smiles angelically. 

“Have we done a fratricide for Unsolved yet?” Ryan asks, nudging his foot against Shane’s under the table. “That might be fun.”

At this rate, Shane is going to earn an honorary degree in shoving food into his face at the Bergara dining room table to avoid conversation.

Jake holds up his hands, innocent as can be. “Just checking in! You had a busy night. And as you know, my room’s right down the hall.”

Shane considers trying to drown himself in his soup. 

“Dude,” Ryan starts, aggrieved, but Jake is already bouncing to his feet.

“See ya later. I’m going for a run.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, giving him an arch look. “You do that. _Run_.”

* * *

“You know,” Shane says. “That could've been worse.”

“ _How_?” Ryan demands. 

They're back in the basement, because Ryan insisted on doing laundry and Shane is in favor of anything that minimizes contact with the rest of his family for the time being. Ostensibly, they’re watching Four Rooms and waiting to throw everything in the dryer. In reality, the movie is just Tarantino background noise as they sit on opposite sides of the couch like mismatched bookends.

Shane shrugs. “Um. My brother would’ve probably kicked the door down? Jake didn’t do that.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself. 

Ryan swivels his head towards him, aghast. “Are you kidding? This is hand-carved mahogany.”

“Your bedroom door? No fucking way.”

“It’s from The Emperor’s New Groove, man.” Ryan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, if you can’t keep up with my Disney references, we might need to consider trying couples therapy.”

“I’ll let you have that meeting with Steven about what our insurance covers,” Shane says lightly. “If this is going to be a thing, I will totally let you drag me to therapy.”

He’s a little impressed with how calm he feels. Shane’s made a habit of projecting an air of nonchalance no matter how accurately it represents his actual sentiments. It’s something he knows damn well is a coping mechanism, but tells himself it’s because being a big dude means you can’t express big emotions without consequence. It serves him well most of the time, and he certainly plays it up on camera when he’s meant to be Ryan’s foil. This time, though, there’s no projecting necessary. Whatever it is that’s happening between him and Ryan, he’s weirdly at peace with it.

Ryan, who’s even more tightly wound than Shane even on his best days, who can see right through Shane when he’s using insouciance as an excuse but lets him get away with it anyway, is staring fixedly at his clenched hands. On the screen, there are girls traipsing around a cauldron with electrical tape on their nipples, but he doesn’t even glance at it. 

Without a word, Shane reaches across the cushion separating them. Ryan’s fingers are locked tightly together. Shane coaxes them apart until he can slip his own between them. 

Ryan looks up and Shane studies him carefully, learning him anew. He squeezes, Ryan’s palm warm against his, and waits.

“Okay,” Ryan says, soft, as if he’s trying not to burst whatever it is they’ve created around themselves. “So, not that I don’t think everyone should try therapy, but let’s go back to the couples part of that.” He wrinkles his nose. “To be honest, I’m still not over Jake being a little shit. But last night was fucking dope and I want to make sure you know that. I’m not letting him ruin that for me.”

Shane wonders what shards of memory have been shimmering through his head, if they’re the same ones that have been pulsing golden through his own. He rubs his thumb across the back of Ryan’s hand. “Ah yes, the mortifying ordeal of being boned. And then having your little brother overhear it.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Ryan wails. “I want to talk about the couple thing, not the Jake-is-a-little-shit thing.”

“Right,” Shane says, surveying their joined hands, still absorbing this new version of fitting themselves together. “You remember that time we decided to practice being a couple?” 

That gets him a classic Ryan wheeze. “It feels like only yesterday.” 

“Yeah, I think we aced it.”

Ryan glances at him. His eyes are guarded. “You don’t think we just, I dunno, Inceptioned ourselves into it?”

Cotton coats Shane’s tongue. “Did we _what_?”

The cadence of Ryan’s voice picks up. “I just mean. Look. There was a lot of drinking and we were already putting it on for my parents, right? And I don’t know about you, but I definitely hadn’t touched another person like that for so long, so maybe we just...you know?”

There’s a surge of bile building in his gut. Shane forces it down, forces himself back into the role of the laidback skeptic as if there’s a camera lens trained on him. “Yeah,” he drawls, rolling his eyes. “Sure. That's totally what happened.”

“I’m just saying, it could be that. If you think it was.”

A chill rushes up Shane’s spine. Ryan, he realizes, is being gracious. Ryan is leaving him a loophole in case he wants to take it. Ryan is offering him an out.

“I don’t,” Shane says firmly. “I don’t think that at all and I don’t want to. Last night _was_ fucking dope.”

Ryan scoots a little closer to him. His mouth is pink from where he’s been worrying at his lower lip, the corners of it quirked in amusement. “So...we’re doing this for real now, huh?”

There’s so much light in his eyes now that Shane can barely look at him head-on. He does it anyway, letting that sun-wide stare drench him in warmth as he strokes across Ryan’s scruff-dusted jaw with his thumb. They’re close enough for him to feel the waft of Ryan’s exhale against his cheek. “I’m in if you are.” 

“Jesus, I’ve seen more romance on a conversation heart,” Ryan sighs, and kisses him.

That's also pretty fucking dope.

“You know,” Shane admits when they part, “we could’ve done this after the first season of getting wasted on camera. I would’ve been totally okay with that.”

Ryan looks incredulous. “Seriously? You professed your love for my little brother because he brought us Taco Bell, you slut.” He says it good-naturedly, but the word—and the light smack he gives Shane’s thigh—makes Shane’s cheeks burn.

“You're really stuck on that, huh? Honestly, I would probably do that for anyone who brought me Taco Bell. Maybe Taco Bell has been my true love all along.”

“Dr. Madej,” Ryan says warningly, “you’re about to lose a patient.”

Shane smooths his hands up the backs of Ryan’s arms. It’s enough to make his mind swirl, just being able to touch him like this, just to feel the heat and texture of his skin. “Hey. I’d pick you over tacos every time. Even though your belly button is faulty.” 

He’s still blushing, but at least now he’s not the only one.

* * *

All things considered, they handle the remaining few days of the year with dignity. 

Shane spends the next two nights in the guest room as a precaution, which sucks, but which they decide is probably wise. He manages to look Ryan’s parents in the eye without doing his best impression of a fainting goat. He relearns what it’s like to be part of a family during the holidays and resolutely does not get sentimental about it.

Not very, anyway. It’s possible that going from being best friends with Ryan to pretending to date Ryan to _actually_ dating Ryan within such a short time has eroded his defenses just a bit. There are things he wants to say, questions he still hasn’t asked, that normally he would tuck aside and try to ignore. 

All it takes is Ryan kissing him (or smiling at him, or just making eye contact with him, like some sexy snapback-wearing Svengali) for Shane to be right on the verge of letting them all come bursting out. He can’t decide if it’s more exhilarating or scary.

“Is there a reason you were so gung-ho about being my fake boyfriend?” he finally asks in a rush. This particular question has been gnawing away at the back of his mind ever since he blurted out his blunder to Ryan the day of filming.

Ryan shrugs. It’s New Year’s Eve and they’re en route to the dog park, each of them holding a leash with a brightly besweatered dachshund at the end. “Felt right at the time. Parents needed a mood boost. Why?”

“Jake said something.”

“Of course he did,” Ryan grumbles. “What now?”

“He said—and these are his words, not mine—that you’ve been insufferable about me for a while now.”

“I mean, he’s not wrong. You can be kind of insufferable, and you know what they say about what happens when you spend too much time around someone.” 

“ _Ryan_.”

Ryan scowls at a clump of grass. “Goddammit. Jake is such a fucking brat.”

Shane declines to make Ryan’s point back at him. “But...he really was right, wasn’t he?” It’s happening, he let himself ask one little thing and now there’s no stopping the flood. 

A rueful smile tugs at the corner of Ryan’s mouth. “Sure was.”

Shane frowns. Pauses. “Why didn’t you say something?” 

“We both had girlfriends for a while. And when we didn’t, I still couldn’t tell if you were into guys at all.”

“Sometimes I am,” Shane says simply. “Since when are _you_?”

“I was in a frat,” Ryan says, like this explains everything. Shane gives him a look to convey how very much it does not. “All right. I had a 4.0 all through college, so I let myself loosen up senior year. Besides, you get a bunch of film nerds together, stuff happens. There’s only so many times you can get high and rate film scores before you start boning.”

“I can’t even count how many times we’ve rated film scores,” Shane points out, averting his eyes as Dori squats in the grass. “Or gotten high.”

“Exactly,” Ryan says with gusto. He nods downward. “Gonna pick that up?”

“You’re closer to the ground than I am, little guy.”

Ryan makes a face, but takes the L.

“My turn,” he says, once they’ve reached the park and let the dogs off their leashes in the enclosure. “How the fuck did you not pick up anything I was putting out there? I’ve been pretty obvious about it. Even Steven freaking Lim called me out for having heart eyes once time, and that was _months_ before he tried to get us to practice being fake husbands for him.”

“I’m kind of socially inept?” Shane shrugs, at a loss. “And to be honest, you’re so much shorter than I am it’s hard for me to see your eyes most of the time anyway.” 

That gets him a finger in the ribs. “Asshole. This is why I thought you were straight. But nope, you’re just an idiot.”

“I’m not good at this,” Shane says candidly. “I can’t really tell when someone is trying to get on my dance card.”

Ryan sighs, but it’s a fond sort of sigh. “I’m not even gonna ask if you actually have a dance card. Anyway. I hope at least you can tell _now_.”

The park is deserted, just the two of them and the doxies. Shane perches on the edge of a bench and waits for Ryan to finish tossing a ball for Micki. It’s an exuberant process that involves a lot of yelping and leaping and, inexplicably, Ryan narrating Micki’s thoughts in a bad Russian accent. 

Something inside Shane melts. 

“Yeah,” he says, too softly for Ryan to hear. “I can tell.”

Ryan jogs back over, his laugh enfolding Shane like a wing. “Thinking deep thoughts?”

There’s a touch of sweat at his temples. And, because he’s Ryan and the laws of mortals don’t apply to his body, it makes him look dewy instead of disgusting. For once, Shane doesn’t resent California for its inappropriate version of winter. “Just thinking the past few days have been very enlightening, that’s all.”

It’s got to be the stuffiest, most woefully inadequate way to describe how he feels. 

But Ryan, sweet stunning Ryan, doesn’t mind. He just pecks Shane on the cheek as he sprawls onto the bench beside him. “Don’t worry, I swear I haven’t been accepting doggie kisses.” 

Shane drapes an arm around him without hesitating. “I’m honored.”

“This is all for you, babe.” Ryan does something Zoolander-ish with his lips. “Also, I don’t think I’ve ever been here while this place is empty. That’s gotta be a sign.”

“Of what?”

A contemplative look flits across Ryan’s face before dissolving into impishness. “Probably that we should take advantage of it and make out. Just spitballing here.” 

Shane sighs. His fingertips dip down the back of Ryan’s sweatshirt, circling against the warm vulnerable flesh of his nape. “ _Please_ don’t say spitballing right now.”

“Fair enough. Is that a yes?” He’s already poised to slide himself astride Shane’s lap.

It’s absolutely a yes.

When Ryan kisses him, everything else stops. Ryan is a force of nature, a forest fire, a tidal wave, swelling and plunging and devouring Shane’s defenses without even trying. His mouth parts warm and soft against Shane’s, little sounds escaping him that sound almost like purrs. 

Then Ryan brings one hand up to grip at Shane’s thigh, the other holding tight to the metal rim of the bench behind him. Shane takes a deep breath, lets it shudder out of him. They’re pressed too close for him to miss the subtle rocking of Ryan’s hips. As much as Shane wants to believe it doesn’t matter who might wander by and see them, he has to acknowledge it’s going to be tough to miss it if he ends up getting hard in the middle of a dog park. He’s about to say so, but then his hands are carding through Ryan’s hair and his mouth is right up against the scruff of Ryan’s cheek

“Feels good,” he whispers. 

It’s not what he was planning on, but the impact is immediate. Ryan’s hips give a tiny roll, then go still, then give another roll. It’s as if he’s trying to seek out more contact but also avoid any actual public indecency. His mouth is so warm and. Shane can’t stop kissing it, nipping at the swell of his lower lip.

He vaguely hopes Micki and Dori have put on little monogrammed blindfolds.

Then a peacock goes trotting by. 

Shane does a double take. 

Micki and Dori both lose their tiny furry minds.

“Huh,” Ryan says mildly. “Cockblock.”

It makes sense, Shane thinks, that Ryan grew up to be a starry-eyed Disney fanatic who believes in everything but—supposedly—mermaids. He essentially grew up in a magical offshoot of reality. 

But. _Honestly_.

“Are you serious?” Shane yelps.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us.” Ryan slides off his lap and starts gathering up the leashes. 

He grins, so utterly at home with himself, with this park he probably knows like the back of his hand. With _Shane_. 

Shane’s heart does a few Cirque du Soleil maneuvers. “I’m too goddamn old for this,” he announces. He’s not even sure what he’s referring to anymore.

Ryan snorts and glances pointedly at his crotch. “Debatable.”

* * *

It turns out Linda was seriously underselling the Bergara New Year’s Eve traditions. 

Back at the house, Shane gets drafted into helping make spring rolls, orchestrate a canine photoshoot, and dust all the places too high for anyone else to reach so they can get the new year off to a clean start. Ryan tries to inform his parents they own a Swiffer, but Steve just pats Shane on the back and tells him he’s infinitely better at it than a Swiffer.

Shane can’t explain why the hell that makes him preen, but it does. He’s been a little jumpy around Ryan’s parents, even though they’ve been nothing but kind to him. A particularly irritating part of Shane’s brain keeps imagining worst case scenarios where they both pull out shotguns and give him a speech about treating their son right. Instead, Linda keeps plying him with baked brie and Steve gets him talking about the most recent season of Unsolved Mysteries.

When he enlists his aid in tackling a few extra strands of fairy lights, Shane obliges even though there are already so many of them bedecking the living room that it looks filigreed. 

“We’d be at the arboretum right now if it was a normal year,” Ryan explains. “There's a light show and lantern festival. We've been going since Jake and I were kids.” 

“You're still kids,” Steve says, the pinnacle of daddish decisiveness. “Normally it would be open and there would be a lot more of us but...2020. I was talking to my brother-in-law about this earlier and they’re doing the same thing in Honolulu, making their own light show at home.”

Linda appears with a charcuterie board in her hands. “Ours is better, obviously. Oh! Your aunt Carrie is so happy for you, by the way,” she adds, beaming at Ryan. 

It takes Shane a moment to absorb the full weight of that statement. 

Beside him, Ryan goes rigid.

“Oh,” Shane murmurs. “Oh, wow.”

Ryan seems taken aback for the first time. “We weren't exactly ready to go public, mom.”

“It's not public,” Steve says, implacably jovial. “It's just family.”

“Family might as well be public,” Ryan mutters. “How many people has _she_ told by now?”

Linda looks contrite. “I'm sorry, sweetie, I was just so happy to share some good news in 2020 for once.”

She does, admittedly, have a very good point. Ryan seems to deflate a bit. “I get that, mama. We’ll be back soon, okay? I need to go...meditate.” 

Shane follows him up to his room, where Ryan instantly throws himself onto the bed with an arm over his eyes like he’s the heroine of a Bronte novel.

“ _Meditate_?” Shane says.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” Ryan hisses, sitting up just as abruptly. “This means that my uncle knows, which means my cousins know, which means everyone in Hawaii is gonna know pretty soon. Do you know how many islands that is?”

Shane does not. “That sounds...excessive.”

“I come from a family of chatterboxes,” Ryan sighs. “We thrive on excess.”

“Do you now,” Shane says. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he warbles, “Let’s give ’em something to talk about,” in his best Bonnie Raitt drawl.

“I can’t believe you.” Ryan thwaps him with a pillow, but he’s already grinning. 

Shane wrestles it away from him. “Likewise.” He knees his way onto the bed and stretches out beside him. “Hey. Come here?”

He opens his arms and Ryan fits himself into them like a key into a lock. Affection throbs warmly between Shane’s lungs. He holds Ryan tighter, cinching them together even more.

“I felt like shit for leaving you all alone for Christmas, you know,” Ryan murmurs after a minute. “You said it was okay and I believed you, but it wasn't.” 

His face is upturned plaintively, as if he's about to close his eyes for a kiss. But Ryan keeps them open, dark and soft and solemn. “It wasn't okay for me. And I don't think it was okay for you.”

Guilt crawls along Shane’s nerves. “Ryan...it was for the best. I was going to be a gloom puddle no matter what.”

“I never want you to feel gloomy,” Ryan says stubbornly. “And then I let you stay home alone like Kevin McAllister anyway and told myself you were fine with it.”

“I wanted you to think I was. That’s not your fault.”

Some of the tension eases out of Ryan’s body. He lolls his head on Shane’s shoulder, muffling a snicker. “Yeah, dumbass, I know. I should’ve dragged your emotionally constipated ass out of bed anyway.”

Shane isn’t sure what makes him say it, only that it feels imperative he does. “Come home with me. My turn. I’ll make up for being a gloom puddle.”

“Like to Chicago?” Ryan asks. His fingers are curled against Shane’s back, languidly toying with the hem of his shirt

“When it’s safe to get on a plane again, yeah. But I figured we can start with my apartment. Merge our bubbles so you can stay over whenever you want to.” The air between them feels like a haven, a conduit for keeping confessions. “No offense to the Bergara guest room, but I miss sleeping with you.”

“I remember what you said,” Ryan tells him suddenly. “About us and the foreseeable future.”

“I’m impressed,” Shane says truthfully. 

Ryan rolls onto one elbow, a subtle gamut of expressions cycling across his face. “I want that too. I just…”

“Wasn’t quite ready for anyone else to know it?” Shane finishes. “I get that.”

Ryan’s breath gusts out in a groan. “Well, I _don’t_ get it. I don’t get how you’re so chill about this. Are you in shock? Because I feel like that’s a legit response. Everything’s happened kind of fast.” 

Shane, to his credit, only rolls his eyes slightly when Ryan checks his temperature with the back of his hand.

“It’s like back when I was trying to find my Brent 2.0,” Ryan continues. He’s ostensibly checking Shane’s pulse now, but it feels an awful lot like he’s just caressing the side of his neck. Shane waits patiently, wondering where the hell this is going. “You checked your dumb Google calendar and boom! That one little thing is the whole reason you and me are the ghoul boys. I remember thinking, ‘oh, okay, I hope he doesn’t regret this later and end up backing out.’” 

“Not really.”

“Huh?”

Shane’s jaw is so tense it aches. He swallows. “The Google calendar. I don't even remember if I even looked at it. There could’ve been back to back meetings all month. I was going to say yes no matter what.”

For a long time, Ryan just gapes at him. “Are you telling me our entire origin story has been built on lies?” 

“What, like the lie of ghosts existing?”

“Shut up and fucking snuggle with me,” Ryan grumbles. He drags Shane’s arm over his waist and settles against him. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“It’s a compliment! I wanted to spend more time with your weird ghosty ass!” Shane presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “Can I at least take my clothes off if we’re spooning instead of meditating?”

Ryan’s giggle rocks through them both. “Nope. Spooning leads to forking. We’re gonna save that for when we’re back in LA.”

“Then you’ll fork me?”

“You bet I will.”

They lie there for a long time, not quite dozing but not quite chaste either. Ryan turns in his arms, presses his warm hands up the arch of Shane’s spine. They kiss as easily as breathing, Ryan's soft mouth parting slow and lush against his own. 

Soon, they’ll go downstairs to eat more snacks and watch Ocean’s Eleven with the rest of the family. And soon after that, it will be midnight and they’ll pop champagne in the filigree living room. And Shane will let Ryan drag him into the nearest alcove for privacy and kiss him until they’re dizzy with it, until the buzz of wine and the exaltation of the future leave them both breathless.

But first. 

“Ryan?” 

Ryan’s arms tighten, keeping him close.

Shane lets his eyes slide closed, lets his mouth brush the arch of Ryan’s cheek. Lets himself be kept.

“I won’t back out."


End file.
